


too shy to say, but i hope you stay

by Lysippe



Series: The Worst Witch 2018 Winter Fluff-A-Thon [8]
Category: The Worst Witch (TV 2017), The Worst Witch - All Media Types
Genre: F/F, day 8: decorating, here have some reminiscing and introspection because that's just what i do
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-08
Updated: 2018-12-08
Packaged: 2019-09-14 08:14:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16909374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lysippe/pseuds/Lysippe
Summary: Historically, Hecate had gone to great lengths to find every reason, excuse, or other threat of unpleasantness imaginable in order to beg off of helping decorate Cackle’s for the holidays. She had, in fact, written and published entire research papers for the sole purpose of not having to do so.





	too shy to say, but i hope you stay

**Author's Note:**

> I was apparently really into the whole digging into Hecate and Pippa's past thing for this challenge. Going through all these a month later is a really weird feeling, because it's like revisiting something I only vaguely remember writing, but it feels so familiar, at the same time.

Historically, Hecate had gone to great lengths to find every reason, excuse, or threat of unpleasantness imaginable in order to beg off of helping decorate Cackle’s for the holidays. She had, in fact, written and published entire research papers for the sole purpose of not having to do so. And she had become notorious over the years for the massive assignment she always gave her third year students, conveniently due to be marked right around the time that the other staff were gearing up for the festivities of the winter months.

It was, as some had suggested to Hecate in years past, a bit of an extreme reaction. But between Ada’s insistence that the school be decorated a full month before Christmas; Miss Bat’s perpetual, looping Christmas chants that were inescapable in all public areas for the duration of the month, and which periodically sent streams of red and green garlands shooting through the air at random; and the increasingly revolting holiday-themed meals that Miss Tapioca came up with each year, Christmas truly was one of Hecate’s least favorite times of year.

Which, according to Pippa, made her “quite the old grinch.”

Pippa had not seemed entertained in the least when Hecate’s response had been to remind her that  _ “You’re the same age as I am, Pippa. A few months older, in fact.” _

She had, in fact, given one deep, long-suffering sigh, looped an arm around Hecate’s shoulders, and offered up a fond, calming smile and a gentle squeeze on Hecate’s bicep when Hecate had stiffened slightly. “The dig at your age wasn’t meant to be the takeaway there, Hiccup,” she said softly, wrinkling her nose in distaste. “Though I hardly appreciate the reciprocity.”

“It seemed only fair,” Hecate responded, with a half-hearted shrug.

“You would think that.” It was punctuated with a roll of the eyes, but Pippa’s smile never faded, and she continued on, relentless as she had ever been. “I just don’t understand the aversion, Hiccup. A little decorating can be fun. And yes,” she added, cutting Hecate off right as her mouth opened in protest, “I am well aware that fun is an affront to you and your witching sensibilities. But it’s our first Christmas together, and it would mean the world to me if you would help me decorate. And failing that, I would accept you sitting on my couch and drink tea while I do it myself. You can even poke fun at my choice of decorations, if the mood strikes you.”

Pippa was teasing, Hecate knew that. And she was well accustomed to people’s remarks about her distinct lack of holiday spirit. She had been hearing them for years, after all, even as a child.  From her classmates in school, whose comments had ranged from passing remarks ( _ “She’s dour and dull even at Christmastime, isn’t she?” _ ) to outright cruel ( _ “Honestly, must she ruin it for everyone else? It isn’t our fault she’s so miserable all the time.” _ ). From her coworkers, who were steadfast yet resigned about Hecate’s refusal to participate in the festivities any more than she was contractually obligated to, but nonetheless approached the topic every year with a renewed sense of vigor. But also from Pippa, in the form of years of wheedling and bargaining and various failed attempts at bribery.

 

And in all truthfulness, it was only Pippa who had ever come close to breaking her resolve. Only Pippa who had made Hecate want to reconsider her opinions on the usefulness of holidays and celebrations and decorating. Pippa, with her bright eyes and smile like the sun and absolute refusal to ever let Hecate spend a holiday doing anything but celebrating if she could help it - even if ‘celebrating’ meant nothing more than a quiet evening alone together, a kettle for tea between them, and an exchange of small, simple gifts. (The gifts were always at Pippa’s pressing. Hecate would have been quite fine without them, but Pippa seemed to enjoy the act of giving. And, if she were being completely honest, Hecate was quite enamored with the way Pippa’s face lit up as she opened them. How she didn’t furrow her brow in confusion, or question even the oddest and most arcane of Hecate’s gifts. How she never had to ask why Hecate had chosen a gift, or what its purpose or function was, because she always understood immediately the meaning behind it. How she always understood  _ her _ .)

And she thought, perhaps, that it wouldn’t be  _ too  _ bad, if she were to engage in the festivities a small amount. If only for Pippa’s benefit.

Which was how she had ended up in her present situation, perched precariously atop a frighteningly rickety step-stool, a large silver star with delicate pink lace on the border grasped in one hand. The other hand was waving in the least dignified way possible, attempting to find some sort of equilibrium, some balance that had eluded her up to this point. And of course, Pippa stood on the ground laughing. Not unkindly, and she was, in all fairness, attempting to be of some help at the same time, saying things like,  _ maybe if you stand on your tip-toes,  _ and  _ you almost had it that time, just a bit more to the left! _

But it had also been Pippa who had gotten her into this mess, with her wide, brown eyes and pleading voice and  _ but you’re taller, Hiccup, and it’s such a struggle for me every year. _ (Hecate had asked, very reasonably, in her opinion, why Pippa didn’t just use magic to get the star atop her Christmas tree. But Pippa had looked quite aghast at the thought and exclaimed, in a tone that Hecate knew meant that her arguments had fallen on deaf ears, that  _ it’s much more fun this way _ . Hecate begged to differ.)

Hecate had been able to abide by Pippa’s insistence that the garlands be strung by hand. That they place each individual pink ornament on the tree one at a time, so that every single one was perfectly balanced and aesthetically pleasing. She had even been able to accept the way Pippa had magicked hundreds of tiny, iridescent snowflakes onto her bedroom window, their twinkling lights casting a faint light over the ever-darkening room. (She had resisted the urge to point out what a frivolous use of magic it was, already hearing Pippa’s indignant response that  _ joy is  _ not  _ frivolous _ , in the back of her head. Hecate had vivid memories of those exact words, of the tone she could still hear perfectly in her mind, of the way Pippa’s posture stiffened, shoulders straight and hands on her hips, as though the put-on sternness would be sufficient to get Hecate to drop the topic.)

(It always was.)

But the fact that Pippa was so adamant that Hecate not cast so much as a lengthening spell on the step stool, just to give herself the extra few inches she needed to perform her task without gravely injuring herself in the process, was so infuriating, so patently unreasonable, that Hecate could barely find words for it.

But of course, she did.

“This is utterly impossible, Pippa,” she groused, pushing every last ounce of the frustration she was feeling into her words. “Neither I nor your step stool are tall enough to do this without some sort of assistance.  _ How  _ did you manage this in years past?”

Pippa wrinkled her nose slightly. “Well, I suppose this tree is a bit taller than the one I had last year,” she admitted. 

Hecate glowered. “How much is  _ a bit _ , exactly?”

“Not that much!” Pippa’s ears grew pink, her back straightening defensively. “Maybe a few centimeters… five or ten? Perhaps a bit more? I never was any good at guessing measurements, Hiccup, you know that.”

“I do.” The star still in hand, Hecate turned and gave Pippa a wry smile. “I also distinctly remember you insisting on doing it anyway. Which was perhaps why your potions were always an abject disaster.”

“They were  _ not  _ a disaster!” 

Hecate raised an eyebrow. 

“Not a complete one, anyway,” Pippa amended. “At least I never got myself high by adding psilocybin instead of toadstool, like Eleanor Murkwood.”

Hecate pursed her lips, remembering well the entertainment of that particular lesson. The way the entire class had erupted into raucous laughter when Eleanor had started dreamily going on about how lovely she found the bunch of stargazers on the ingredients table. The small bit of schadenfreude that Hecate herself had taken from the situation, seeing one of the girls who had made it her mission since their first year to make Hecate miserable at every opportunity fall victim to her own ignorance. Seeing someone else openly mocked by their classmates. Someone not her.

Of course, Eleanor, unlike Hecate, had been pretty and well-liked, and the entire thing had blown over by dinner. Hecate was honestly surprised that Pippa even remembered.

“She had it coming though, wouldn’t you say?”

Pulled out of her memories by the question, Hecate furrowed her brow. “I beg your pardon?”

Pippa was staring at her curiously, head tilted as though a question was on the tip of her tongue. “Well, she was always quite a cow to you when she thought no one was paying attention, wasn’t she?”

Hecate’s brows raised, then furrowed again. She had always done her best to hide the torment the other girls at school had inflicted on her, had gone to great lengths to pretend that they didn’t happen or, at worst, that she found them to be nothing more than a mild irritation. Because Pippa, all bright smiles and easy affection and natural social graces, had been friends with them. In the way that she had been friends with everyone, because Pippa was Pippa and making friends for her was like breathing.

And Hecate had never wanted to take that from her.

“I suppose was somewhat unpleasant.” Hecate knew that she was hedging, knew that her noncommittal response was a far from adequate portrayal of the years of torment, of pinched elbows and pulled hair and nasty remarks whispered in passing when no one was around to hear. But the instinct to downplay everything for Pippa’s benefit was as strong as it had ever been, and the little voice in the back of her mind that whispered  _ they were her friends, too _ could never quite be silenced.

“Hecate,” Pippa sighed, her voice weary and sad, “she tormented you. Relentlessly. For the entire time we were at school. She was not  _ somewhat unpleasant _ . She was a bully. And I don’t know why you never wanted to talk about it, what purpose pretending that it didn’t happen served you, but that doesn’t make it less true.”

“Would you have?” Hecate asked quietly, staring at Pippa intently, trying to figure out how she had known, why she had never brought it up. Why she had allowed Hecate to go on pretending, if she had known the truth.

“I told you everything back then.” There was a small twinge of hurt in Pippa’s voice that made Hecate’s chest ache, made her throat close up as though someone was forcing the air from her lungs. 

“But they were your friends. Eleanor. All those girls.”

“No, Hecate.” Pippa steepled her hands in front of her mouth and let out a deep breath. “You were my friend. All those years, I-- I suppose I can see where you got the idea, but you were the only one I ever wanted to be friends with. The only one I ever truly wanted to be around. And I know I can be too sociable for my own good at times. But I always knew how terrible they were to you.”  A small smile overtook her features for a moment. “You know, I  split a hole in the seat of her skirt once our first year after I saw her pull your hair in chanting. I never told you, because I assumed you would just tell me off for improper use of magic. But it felt good.” She let out a brief, dry laugh before her features fell back into a serious sort of concern. “In any event, I suppose I thought that… that perhaps, I could make them understand. That I could make them see you, the way I saw you. That I could make it better.”

Hecate sat in stunned silence for far longer than she would have liked. She remembered the incident, although vaguely. How Eleanor had reached out, grabbed Hecate’s braid, and given one sharp tug, enough to make Hecate yelp in the middle of what was supposed to be a very solemn chant. How Hecate, afraid to tell their teacher what had happened, had simply apologized and continued with their lesson. How Eleanor had cornered her after class and reminded her that  _no one would have believed you, anyway._  She had never known that Pippa had noticed, much less that she had exacted any sort of revenge. “I don’t believe that anything you could have said would have made it better,” she finally began, the words forced and stilted. “But it was… incredibly kind of you to try, in any event.”   


Pippa grimaced, glancing away from Hecate and running her fingers through her hair in aggravation. “Apparently it may have been better if I hadn’t. Since my efforts didn’t work, and only made you think that-- that--”

“Honestly, I’m just surprised you noticed.” Hecate’s voice was low and even, her gaze steady.

“ _ Hecate _ ,” Pippa’s voice broke into her thoughts, insistent and a little demanding. Much like Pippa herself. But also, perhaps, Hecate thought, a little bit hurt. “I noticed everything about you. Even - perhaps especially - the things you tried to hide from me.”

It wasn’t an accusation, per se, but the truth of it stung nonetheless. The knowledge that Pippa had noticed after all, had seen all of the moments Hecate had tried so hard to hide. That Pippa had always been watching her, watching over her. Even when Hecate had thought she was most alone. 

She shifted her weight, slightly, turning to look more fully at Pippa. Before she got there, however, the tip of her boot caught on one of the more elaborately ostentatious designs in the step stool, and the whole thing wavered, dangerously, threatening to topple. Because though their conversation had taken them places she hadn’t expected to go, though it had given Hecate a whole new light on various aspects of their childhood, it hadn’t, unfortunately, taken her down from the stool.

Pippa stood there, one hand pressed firmly to her upturned lips, as Hecate attempted to right herself once again.

“You noticed everything, it seems,” Hecate grumbled, “except how tall I am.”

**Author's Note:**

> Join me on Tumblr @ thebestdressedrebelinhistory


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